My Imaginary Sherlock
by HobbitatHogwarts
Summary: When Sherlock returns, John is unable to believe that his flatmate is alive, so he convinces himself that Sherlock is a figment of his imagination. That decision could lead to the end of John Watson. Post-Reichenbach. Introduction to Moran.


**I apologize for this in advance. It's almost too fast paced for its own good. I'm not known for long, detailed stories though, so you honestly shouldn't be expecting much different from me. I want to promise that this will be my last Post-Reich fic but honestly I can't. This one is a bit different from the others I wrote though so... I really like the beginning and I hate the end... **

**Anyways let me know what you think! I don't own Sherlock because if I did, we would have season 3 now, not next fall.**

* * *

I was insane. I had declared myself so months ago. There was no need to check with a doctor; I was a doctor, so what was the point? I wasn't the sort of insane who pointed a gun at your head or who went outside naked. I was the sort of insane that saw things that weren't there. To be specific, I actually only saw one thing that wasn't there. And that thing was my flatmate.

Sherlock Holmes, the sociopathic consultant detective, had died three years ago in front of my eyes. Nobody could survive a fall of that distance in any universe I was aware of. Also, his pulse had been non existent, and I had checked thoroughly. The facts clearly stated that he was dead.

So when Sherlock had showed up at the flat, very much alive, I had confirmed myself insane. Well, to be perfectly honest, first I fainted. But when I woke up, with Sherlock standing over me, his eyes filled with concern, I was unable to trust the evidence of my own eyes and I came up with the only plausible solution: the whole ordeal of my best friends death had messed with my head and I was imagining Sherlock's existence. I mean it made sense! At the time at least.

Life with my imaginary Sherlock was very much the same as life had been when he was alive. We drank our tea in the mornings, read the newspaper, watched some crap telly... Sherlock would do his ruddy experiments in the kitchen and I would yell at him. The only difference was that imaginary Sherlock never left the flat. We no longer went to crime scenes or on chases through the city. And nobody came to visit. The only other person that I saw entering the flat for the next two years was Mrs. Hudson. She was very kind to go along with my crazy, as she pretended that Sherlock was there as well. She would even set the table for three and serve imaginary Sherlock a plate. Life, finally, felt normal. Everything was like the good ol' days when my flatmate had actually been alive.

* * *

The day that I died, started out as any other. I had gone to the store to get some milk, because Sherlock would never in any circumstance do something as mundane as that. I was halfway there when, before I could register what was happening, I was sitting blindfolded in the back of a car. I could feel two large men beside me but that was it. I sat silently, not resisting, using my army training to calm my nerves. After an approximate of fifteen minutes, the car stopped. The men grabbed me roughly and dragged me away from the car. I was forced into a chair and tied tightly to it. I winced slightly at the tight bonds but grit my teeth so as to not show any pain. I sat like that for five minutes before the blindfold was removed.

I was in some sort of underground storage room. Large garage's of sorts lined the walls all around me, so that I was in the centre. My two man handlers stood on either side of me. There was no sign of the car that had brought us here.

- "You must be wondering why you are here." said a cool voice. It sounded like it was coming from all around, making it impossible for me to find the man speaking. But, in fact I didn't have to. A well dressed man, in his early thirties had appeared and was walking towards me. His black suit contrasted with his blonde hair that was gelled back with a disgusting amount of the product. He reminded me sickeningly of Jim Moriarty. And that meant that I immediately despised him. "Hello Doctor Watson." said the Moriarty wannabe. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance." I stared at the man, unmoving, waiting for the first move to be played in the game of criminal chess. "It's a pity that we have not been introduced before now. Both of our colleagues, were very close, rumour has it." Colleagues? That meant Sherlock for me. But who was this man talking about... "Jim always had a little thing for detectives." Oh. So this man was a friend of Moriarty's. A colleague even. But how could Moriarty have a colleague? "My name is Sebastian Moran. Never heard of me?" he said when he saw my look of confusion. "I am to Jim as you are to Sherlock. A live in PA, I guess you could call it." It took me a moment to pick up on the present tense that he had used when talking of Sherlock. But as soon as I noticed it, I immediately corrected him.

- "Was. I think you meant that you are to Jim as I was to Sherlock." but Moran shook his head.

- "No, no, Doctor, I do believe that you are the one that is mistaken." And as he said that, he raised his hand and pointed a gun straight at my head. "Quit lying John. We both know that Sherlock Holmes is alive. And you're going to tell me where he's hiding or I will shoot you. Simple as that." he loaded the gun and set it straight at my temple.

Now to be honest, I wasn't too upset that I was going to die. I was obviously a deadman at this point. Sherlock was dead, so I wouldn't be able to give Moran the answer that he wanted. He was obviously as insane as Moriarty and me combined, because he wasn't afraid to kill me and he was convinced Sherlock was alive. Death had always scared me. But in this moment, with it staring at me in the face, I wasn't scared one bit. I believed in the afterlife, and was now rather eager to get there. And for one reason and one reason only.

Sherlock was there.

- "Sherlock Holmes is dead." I said to Moran. "And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't tell you where he was." I saw Moran grit his teeth at me and then his mouth turned into an evil smirk. And then I died.

* * *

I've been in heaven for three years now. And it's been rather disappointing. I've searched every nook and crevice and asked around, but so far, I have been unable to find any trace of my best friend, Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
